It was easy for me the first time
around as a caregiver. Twenty years ago I was much
younger and emotionally stronger to carry out the role.
Of course I was also very naive to the role I was about
to undertake. As primary caregiver to first my mother,
and then years later to my father, there was never a
question in my mind or heart about the rightness of it
all. It was simply something I did because it was the
right thing to do. Loving my parents and all that they
had done for me in my life made it easy. And even though
I had no idea what the next twenty years would bring, I
moved forward with a certainty and conviction that
surprised many over the years.

When dad died, it was as though a small part of me died
as well. There remains in my heart a feeling of
emptiness that will not be filled. The toll of being
caregiver for so many years finally caught up with me,
and I find it sometimes difficult to get through the
day. My identity had been intertwined with my parents
and much of who I am today can be defined by the role I
played as caregiver. And yet, if you asked me six months
ago if I would actively take up the role again, I would
have answered with a resounding no. It was not so much
that I did not want to provide the care to anyone else.
It was more that I no longer had the emotional strength
needed to be advocate to one person. The thought of
being depended on for all aspects of another’s life was
just too much for me to think about. I wanted to find
out who I was now that my role as caregiver was over. I
desperately needed to be able to define my personal
boundaries. And yet whatever I attempted to do to learn
those boundaries, it continued to return to caregiving.

Perhaps caregiving is not so much what I am, but rather
who I am. The fact remains that I am now and always will
be a caregiver. Some may say that is just a way of
hiding from the real me. I disagree. The real me takes
pleasure in helping others. The real me rejoices when
some small thing I may do creates a measure of happiness
in another.

That is not to say that I welcome becoming an active
caregiver once again. Now that it is upon me, I suddenly
have a greater respect and understanding for all
caregivers out there who do so because they have no
choice. Perhaps they wish they did not have to be the
caregiver and perhaps they resent that this role is
falling onto them at this time in their life. I know
that is how I feel right now. I find that it is falling
on me to be caregiver to someone who I had not been
particularly close to throughout my life. If the truth
were told you might even say the two of us were more
antagonists to each other. So why am I doing it again?
Why am I going to subject myself to all the stresses and
frustrations caregiving brings when I really do not want
to do this thing?

It seems to me that caregivers, willing or not so
willing, have a special calling. We may not like it, yet
we recognize that without our intervention this person
will have no one to help him or her at a time in his or
her life when they need the most help. There is a part
of me that wishes this were not happening. But I cannot
deny that this is who I am and what I do. Being a
caregiver gives meaning to my life. And come what may,
the road ahead will undoubtedly be filled with many
mixed emotions. In a way I welcome this new challenge as
a means of increasing my understanding of caregivers who
also find they are “trapped” in a situation they would
rather not have to experience. I have always said that
each new experience in my life has it’s own lesson to be
learned. It is my hope that the lessons I am about to
learn will be of help to others. Only time will tell,
and you can be sure that as soon as I know, I will share
it with you.